The wooden box is still mine.
For years, I'd believed fatherhood was something biology either gave a man or didn't.
Ray taught me otherwise.
One man came back wanting me to see what he could give me.
The other had spent nearly two years giving when nobody was looking.
A pair of boots that could wait another month.
A football game where I never left the bench.
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Chemistry homework he couldn't understand.
None of those things looked impressive with a red bow on top.
Together, they were worth more to me than a car.
Because my biological father came back calling me "son" as loudly as he could.
Ray never needed to.
He just looked down at a sink full of dishes and said the words he'd already been proving every day.
"You're my kid."
And by then, I knew I was.
Enjoyed the read? Here is another story you will love: I thought finding my ex-husband's apartment key in Ryan's gym bag was the worst surprise waiting for me that morning. Then Michael answered my call and told me to
